


guess it works out in the end

by CravenWyvern



Series: DS Extras [4]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Cuddling, Drabbles, First Kiss, First time writing honest to God fluff, Fluff, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, uh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 11:28:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10661640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern





	1. it doesn't matter anyway

This was still such an odd thing. The general almost embarrassment of it was what got to him, and not being told why was another factor.

Maxwell had originally been reading, or more specifically slowly flipping through the Codex Umbra’s pages and not actually seeing the words. With his back leaning on the trunk of a rather large evergreen, his mind had wandered, drifted on thoughts of the upcoming winter and the patterns of giants that may stumble upon him and how many times he'd die to the cold and how Charlie was holding up, upon that Throne of shadows and smoke and barbed thorns and how maybe he should start preparing, getting ready for the trek downwards into the bowls of this world, to the ruins and its caretakers and its own twisted history and how just maybe, just maybe there was something down there that could help him-

But then his inner thoughts were derailed. Wilson had come to visit.

And hadn't actually announced himself, and for a moment Maxwell was ready to berate him for that, because that was incredibly rude and impolite and what would have happened if it had been night and he'd been mistaken for a monster-

But then he actually saw the man, saw the ragged expression and bags under his eyes and how he wavered on his own feet as if he was about to fall over right then and there, and Maxwell instead decided to keep his agitation under wraps for now. Later, when they were on even ground, he'd bring it up.

Wilson hadn't said anything, hadn't even brought anything with him on this visit and Maxwell sat up, just about ready to pull himself into a stand, to confront him and figure out what was going on when the man practically collapsed upon him.

So now here he was, supported by the tree behind him, book to his side in the grass with a very tired and very unhealthy looking man leaning on him, half on him and half off, pressed up against his body with his head laid over Maxwell's chest. His hands, or claws to be more exact, were tangled with Maxwell's gloved counterparts, grip a little tighter than normal and one of his legs laid over Maxwell's, a position that felt both comforting and uncomfortable at the same time. 

Wilson wasn't asleep, that was for sure, but he had his eyes closed and breathed raggedly, silent the whole time. Maxwell had sputtered a slight protest on having such a sudden weight flop upon him without warning, but the man had looked completely exhausted and how he had went limp in Maxwell's arms, claws grasping weakly for his own hands, made him accept the situation and deal with it a little slower, quieter.

Why it was happening or what happened to cause it was still a topic he needed to breach, but right now Wilson did not look like he was in the fit state to be interrogated. He didn't look like he was in a fight, no blood or dirt or other such telltale signs, but the general air of cleanness yet fatigue may be from a touchstone. That would imply a fight, but having him stumble all the way to Maxwell's camp may mean it was over with. It may also mean it ended badly for the rest of them.

It did worry him, assuming that there was indeed a fight and that this could mean the enemies were now making their way to his camp right this instant, but Wilson's unhurried, almost single minded goal to collapse into his arms did not seem like the type of action taken by someone who was being chased or who needed to deliver a warning.

It wasn't good, but Maxwell could do nothing about it right now. Assuming was one thing, knowing was another, and right now Wilson was more important than perceived threats. The man wasn't doing well, even if it was assumed he just got back from a touchstone.

His breathing, for one. Hearing the wheezing from the man's lungs was not something Maxwell enjoyed listening to, as the stuttering of it was so uneven and broken that it made him very uncomfortable. How Wilson's chest moved with each breath, almost weakly, was another thing he didn't like, how it felt like the man was on the edge of complete collapse due to respiratory troubles. The slight trembling in Wilson was also alarming, his eyes squeezed shut and face pulled down into a scowl, the scruff on his chin making the man look all the wilder.

His grip on Maxwell's hands was tight, almost desperate, and Maxwell carefully tightened his own grasp, hopefully to convey a grounding point to the shivering man. He was responded to in kind, claws curling over his fingers almost painfully, and Maxwell stiffened when the man moved.

It wasn't much, Wilson pressing his face into Maxwell's suit for a moment as another stuttered breath made his trembling intensify, and then he pulled himself, pushing with his feet until he was practically in Maxwell's lap. Having the smaller man curl over his chest, hands still locked with claws, Maxwell took a slow, calming breath, alarmed more than ever.

Usually their more affectionate actions consisted to something similar to this, but less…desperate, insistent even. It made Maxwell anxious, though he was coming to the conclusion that this was brought upon by something he had no knowledge of. Whatever had happened out there had shaken Wilson to the point where he was seeking comfort from Maxwell in a much more forward way.

Well, no matter. Maxwell had that snaking feeling of nervousness in his chest, but that wouldn't stop him from offering his own condolences for whatever happened. He was a gentleman, after all.

Didn't matter that he was just pretending, but it works well enough he supposed. If he acted like who he originally was, Wilson would not be here, would want no connection to him at all. William had not been the most pleasant of men; Maxwell was a lot more versed in these sorts of things. At least, he hoped so; the persona had enough practice while on the Throne.

Carefully, untangling one of his hands from Wilson's gripping claws which locked on his other hand, Maxwell curled his arm around and pressed his palm against the smaller mans back, pulling him closer against Maxwell's chest. This seemed to be the right thing, because Wilson responded with a low hum of incomprehensible noise and snuggled closer, forehead against Maxwell's neck and completely weighed upon him now. 

It made breathing a little difficult, perhaps, but as Maxwell slowly rubbed small circles onto the others clothed back, feeling that filthy hair against him and the warmth of the other mans face placed under his throat and over his chest, he found it was rather more favorable than the usual. It felt…close, warm, almost nervously intimate, and right now the slowly evening out breaths of Wilson against him seemed just right.


	2. literally nothing to worry about

The spring rain had let up finally. For only a few minutes, perhaps, but Maxwell appreciated the break.

He wasn't soaked, thank God, but the humidity was warm and was much too sticky and irritating to be comfortable, especially in his suit. The lean-to was holding up well at least, kept him dry from the light shower, but it could do nothing about the air itself and thus he sat under it, not yet willing to peel off the layers of his suit for something more suitable. Most of the clothing he had for the warmth of spring and summer were sleeveless, colorful things constructed by Wilson and his many “friends”. Maxwell had nothing against color itself, but they were gaudy rags and he'd rather not feel half naked because of his lack of covered skin.

Having someone sneak up behind him while he was wearing one of those things would not be something he'd like to deal with either. He'd be too vulnerable.

So Maxwell sat, toughed out the slickness of the humidity and how it made him sweat, how his suit hung off of his thin frame heavily, not even sodden but weighed down by the very air. It made him itch, feel worse than usual, but he was a stubborn man. Maxwell would not bend to the force of nature, not like this.

It was such a short rest period and then the rain started up again, the monsoon resuming its course. The pouring water thundered down upon his lean-to, rolled off the side in rivers of water that continued downhill. He had situated this structure in the best place, near a slopped hill, so the rainwater fell off of his shelter and down instead of pooling around him.

Maxwell found himself closing his eyes, dozing in the steady patter of the rain, back hunched over his crossed legs, his book set in his lap protectively. The humidity was ignored, though the itchy stick of his suit still lingered in the back of his mind. It was an easy day, a slow one due to rain, and he had supplies carefully stowed away and protected from the rain that would carry him for a few days. He didn't need to worry about anything for awhile.

The sudden approaching footsteps, water splashed about, jerked him awake and Maxwell squinted out into the pouring storm, trying to catch a glimpse of what – or who – was around. A few flashes of color blurred here or there, and then suddenly focused as the visitor approached the opening of his lean-to, pink umbrella in hand and letting the water fall in sheets to soak the grass. Maxwell's face twisted into one of confusion, looking his visitor up and down.

Why in the world was Wilson wandering around in this weather?

It took a moment for Maxwell to scoot back, allow passage and Wilson eagerly clambered in, dragging the umbrella down and hurriedly closing it up with a snap, lightly sprinkling the both of them with water droplets. Space was tight in here, meaning that they sat opposite with their legs practically tangled together to keep out of the rains radius, and Wilson shook his head, wild hair damp but not soaked through. The rain continued down, continued its pittering music on the shelter’s roof, and Maxwell cleared his throat, straightening up and moving the Codex safely to his side.

“What brings you here, Mr. Higgsbury? I'd have thought you had more common sense than to wander a storm like this.”

There was something akin to a smile that crawled on Wilson's face, attention turned to storing the umbrella next to him and swinging his backpack to his other side, getting settled more comfortably, legs crossed tightly in front of him to stop practically laying on Maxwell's legs. He made a hand gesture of sorts, flapping behind him into the rain and beyond.

“It's started to flood back at camp. I wanted to check up on you.”

Maxwell frowned, shifted a bit and grimaced even more at the way his suit stuck to him and felt too much on his skin. Wilson was wearing what he always wore, that vest and shirt and trousers, not at all looking harried by the weather itself, posture loose and easy, and his gaze was observing Maxwell a little too closely for his liking, that slight smirk still on his face.

“Well, as you can see, I am doing quite fine. Is there any other reason you came to visit me?”

He gestured vaguely around his small encampment, obscured by pouring rain, and didn’t notice as he gazed around almost dramatically that the other man had leaned close. Maxwell's stomach dropped and he could feel his face heating up as his gaze locked with Wilson's, who was now much too close for normal interaction, and he was wholly unprepared for the other man to press his face next to his own, breath warm against his ear and the scratch of his stubble against Maxwell's face.

His stutter of breath was met by a low hum, the other man positioning himself on his knees and steadying a hand on Maxwell's shoulder, leaning forward. Maxwell couldn’t speak when he felt the press of lips against his neck, the mess of damp hair against the side of his face and that rough stubble brushing against him, and the heat in his face and feeling in his gut was nervous and bubbly warm at the same time, a mix of feelings he couldn't quite organize at that particular moment.

Wilson seemed to be taking the initiative, pushing himself closer and wrapping an arm around Maxwell, palm pressing into his back to keep him close. Maxwell shivered, hissing out a low breath when Wilson moved his mouth to his jawline, light, almost chaste kisses trailing his skin, his own eyes half lidded at the billowing feeling of physical contact and the intimacy of the actions. The hand on his shoulder slid up into his hair, claws carefully brushing over his scalp in soothing movements.

Wilson pulled away from Maxwell after a moment, eyes bright as he focused on Maxwell's flushed face, his breathing deeper and slower as he felt Wilson's claws delicately pull away, the hand on his back stabilizing. Maxwell focused on him, words caught in his throat because this was rather forward, wasn’t it, slightly startling as well, sprung up on him like that, the rain still thundering down around them.

That smile was still on Wilson's face, the upturned smirk that sent a shiver up Maxwell's spine, and it was harder than usual meeting his gaze, the blush on his face very heated and that quiver of anxiety in his chest pounding along with his heart. Wilson was kneeled in between Maxwell's skewered, outstretched legs, his clawed hand keeping Maxwell still as he leaned forward, gazed locked on him.

“There are a lot of reasons I've come to visit, Maxwell. This is one of them.”

Later Maxwell would come upon the realization that was an incredibly cheesy thing to say, especially in that moment, but right then and there he was quite overwhelmed by the contact and pressure on his back, his scalp still tingling with left over touches and neck and face flush from the intimacy of it all.

The kiss delivered right after was something else, short and soft and not at all forceful like he always thought kisses would be, and Maxwell closed his eyes during it, much too caught up in the sudden gripping hand in his hair and the one on his back that pulled him closer and how Wilson had looked right then, right after those words, his grungy appearance and dirty hair and scruffy almost beard pressing against Maxwell, and it was…

Quite something, Maxwell decided later. He'd remember it, first kiss and all, but having Wilson to be the one to initiate it shook his foundation and made it all the better. And here he always thought he'd be the one to kiss someone first, not be the one to be kissed!

Either way, the ending of it was quick, Wilson pulling away and Maxwell blinking his eyes open after a moment, heart pounding hard in his chest. Wilson sat back, helped Maxwell sit up fully, feeling ever so slightly weak, the warmth seeping from his chest to his limbs. Pulling his claws away from him, kneeled in between Maxwell's spread legs and quite physically close, Wilson was a comforting presence. Maxwell was breathing a little heavy and there didn't seem to be much difference with Wilson, the air heated up between their breathes even as the storm continued overhead. 

“That-“ Maxwell paused, absentmindedly turning his gaze away and brushing his hand over his face, the tingling feeling of contact still lingering. “-that was rather sudden.”

Wilson shifted, watching him with half lidded eyes, coming down from his knees and spreading his legs slightly to be in a more comfortable position. His claws fiddled together for a second, clicking quietly in the rain’s sound, and it was as if he was waiting for something, patient for once.

It took Maxwell a moment, already trying to sort his thoughts back into order, still feeling the aftereffects sharply, still feeling that bubbling in his gut and the overwhelming warmth in his chest, but it only took that moment for him to make a split decision. 

If this was how it was going to be, if Wilson wanted this just as much as he did, wanted it to be more than it already was, then…well, he should probably start showing his support.

Maxwell moved slower, slower than Wilson had, the hesitance still there and gnawing on his limbs, trying to leech away the passing moment, but the other man watched and waited, the expression on his face flushed and bright even with how disheveled and unhygienic he was, with how gray and damp he was. That seemed to add something to Wilson as a whole, mark him and individualize him, at least to Maxwell, and his thoughts felt clear and focused even as they wandered over the other mans face, as he focused on how Wilson looked at him, his eyes so much lighter than usual, the wrinkles on his face smoothed for a moment from the regular scowl he had on him, his slightly open mouth and light panted breath and how the blush was spread over his nose and cheeks, and it only took a moment for Maxwell to return the kiss, this time for a longer scale, moving his legs to balance on his knees and press forward boldly.

His hands were more hesitant, nervous, but Wilson seemed to recognize the uncertainty and guided one to the back of his head, to twine in the rats nest of his spiked hair, the other tangled with Wilson's claws and brought to his vested chest, and Maxwell leaned forward, felt the press of knees on his sides as Wilson's legs rose. The other clawed hand made its way to his back, to press comforting pressure on his suit and backbone and keep the other man balanced, and Wilson accepted the advancement, eyes locked onto his.

This kiss was ever so slightly different, the heat in Maxwell and his fluttering heartbeat wanting to continue, to press close against the smaller man, but he still had to breath and pulling away for just a moment, breaking the chaste intimacy for a quick breath didn't stop Wilson's own plans. Pulling him closer and trailing light kisses on the corners of his mouth and up his jawline, the hand on his back sliding up to tangle in Maxwell's hair, and after a moment they slid down, Wilson's back against the earth and Maxwell above him.

The sudden surge of emotion, something in his chest pounding hard along with his heart, made Maxwell bend his face down, into the crook of Wilson's neck, breathing against the other man's skin. Wilson pressed his own face against his, the stubble rough against his throat and neck, and his clawed hand brushed through Maxwell's hair, across the back of his head and the nape of his neck. Maxwell's own hand curled into Wilson's hair, a light stabilizing grip, and his other hand, pressed between them in the grip of Wilson's claws, tightened for a moment, a validation.

They stayed like that for awhile, breathing in each other's scents, Maxwell at that moment not caring that his partner didn't smell all that great, and feeling Wilson's chest breath in and out underneath him, his own almost synchronized, made him huddle closer, shifting his position to lay his head onto Wilson's chest and curl himself as best he could in a comfortable position, hand pulling away from the other mans hair to grasp the claws still holding onto his other hand, his legs pulling up. Their size differences didn't help much, but he lay half on and half off of his partner and right now, being able to hear Wilson's heartbeat was the thing he cared for most.

The claws in his hair stayed, a light whistle of almost trumpeted laughter from Wilson as they settled, the rain outside now slowed into a drizzle of water, and for a moment it seemed like Wilson had something to say but then he exhaled and it was quiet.

The storm was lessening, slowing down, yet its light shower continued, quiet music on the lean-to, and the humidity seemed less than it originally was, the air a little less heavy. Under the shelter it was warmer, bodies pressed together and comfortable, and Maxwell closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. Though his mind wanted to think, wanted to organize his thoughts and actions and create the timeline of what happened, right now, in this quiet calm, he'd much rather just doze off, safe and content and happy even, with Wilson holding him.


End file.
